


when you're done with me (i can't even concentrate)

by tndrbtns



Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Body Swap (kind of??? they get weird with polymorph but it's all consensual), F/M, M/M, Penis In Vagina Sex, Trans Male Character, takes place during season 2 but doesn't mention any canon events, this started as one thing and quickly devolved into sin sin sin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:35:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28378584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tndrbtns/pseuds/tndrbtns
Summary: Here’s what you learn, about a year after Times Square, when your new group is very slowly learning how to relax with each other:You want Ricky to fuck you very badly.(or, pete spends some time with ricky and esther treating restlessness with sex)
Relationships: Pete the Plug/Esther Sinclair, Ricky Matsui/Esther Sinclair, Ricky Matsui/Pete the Plug
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	when you're done with me (i can't even concentrate)

**Author's Note:**

> first attempt at a full smut story, very unedited, please don't judge the demi lovato title

You have ways of dealing with isolation, it’s just that none of them are good.

Good days come and go like waves—sometimes they swell for months, other times they crash into each other and cancel themselves out. You were living in the crash, before the Unsleeping City. And it’s still there after, but your friends work really hard to calm everything down. 

You’ve built yourself for years. Still are, always will be. It’s exhausting, to be perfectly honest. In an ideal world, you wouldn’t have to constantly evaluate who you are or where you belong or who you fit with. But it’s 2022 and you live in New York City and that’s kind of the whole point of the place, right? So you adjust and adjust and adjust, and the things that you learn about yourself stack onto your shoulders like muscles.

Here’s what you learn, about a year after Times Square, when your new group is very slowly learning how to relax with each other:

You want Ricky to fuck you very badly.

You think about it sometimes, that little moment that you caught between Ricky and Esther. And you talk to Kugrash over the months that follow. Not every day, not even every month—but enough. It’s easier to talk when you visit Nod, and Kug can’t help but spill the beans about Esther’s tearful, horny confession. You wish you could have seen it, or maybe you don’t because maybe you would have given yourself away too easily. 

You only dated women before you transitioned and that was hard enough. There’s a satisfaction in it, and there are times when you almost miss the rebellion of it, even though it meant living in a body that stuck too tightly to your bones. But here you are now, all flat chest and facial hair and the option to be topless without tempting any public indecency laws. You’re on your way to comfortable and you still date women and things are almost settled.

And yet.

Crashes come back, like a cliche. (Slow at first, then all at once—you scoff until it’s true.) You put in the work and set yourself up with a stable job, a steadier life, a circle of family who only want to see you happy. It should be enough, but there are nights you find yourself on the roof or a fire escape or on a dark street corner, puffing furiously at a cigarette and wishing you could disappear for a week just to let off some steam.

(You try that, one or two times. The first time isn’t debauchery enough, and so you go back and do it twice as hard the next. 

That one makes for some very long conversations with Dr. Lugash.)

Leaning into the isolation isn’t enough and so you think that maybe it’s time to travel down the other end of the spectrum. You sign up for every community event that your bookstore hosts; you volunteer with local charity groups; you invite yourself around to Kingston’s place for dinner a few times. (His parents invite you back a few more.) And that works for a while. Some of the restlessness calms, knowing that you have a growing list of people who genuinely enjoy your company. 

But somewhere behind your navel, something is starting to itch.

It comes to a head on a solo trip to Nod, what starts as a check-in and spirals wildly and quickly out of control. Sofia is busy with the order, Kingston has a date with Liz, and you never hear from Rowan anymore. You chase an imp to an alley behind a magical brothel—truly a den of sin even by your standards—and flinch back when it sprays some kind of acid right into your face.

It’s been almost two years and you haven’t gotten high at all, and all of a sudden everything explodes in a flash of colors. Neons whirl around your head and tease awareness out of your pupils. You feel yourself turning into a human version of that fuzzy feeling you get when a freezing cold leg starts to warm up. 

Your fingers are so big and so many that you have to use Siri to call for help.

Ricky answers after the first ring. Of course he does.

“Pete, what’s up?”

“Ricky.” You focus very hard on saying words that make sense even though your head feels like it’s about to tip you forward to the ground. “I’m not doing so hot, man.”

“Okay. That’s okay. What happened?”

You hold your phone in front of you, put Ricky on speakerphone, and bend at the waist to try and hold in some of this awful, roiling energy you have inside.

“Don’t know,” you finally manage. “I think it’ll pass, but—I need. To not be alone.”

“Sure, yeah, I can do that. Where are you?”

“Somewhere in Nod. Oh, shit. Hold on.” You move the phone away from your mouth and puke. “I’ll drop a pin,” you rasp when you compose yourself.

“Cool.” You hear movement on his end, like he’s walking outside. “Do you want me to bring the Maserati, or can I just run to you?”

“ _God_ , you’re too fuckin’ much,” is all you say. Then you sit down, press yourself against a dirty wall, and fight the urge to stick your hand in your pants.

You have absolutely no concept of the time it takes for Ricky to get to you. It just seems like one moment you’re alone, the next moment he’s there, and possibly an entire century has taken place in between. 

“Hey.” You feel a weight on your shoulder and crack open one eye to see a barely out of breath and sweaty Ricky looking at you with his fucking fireman’s smile.

You try to wink but you’re sure it doesn’t come off looking anything close to that. “‘Sup.”

“You look pretty bad, Pete.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

“Did you figure out what happened yet, or…?”

You shake your head. “Some fucking gremlin thing spat at me and now I feel—” 

You take a moment to assess how you feel. Every trickle of blood under your skin is pulsing, for one, and you’ve never been more aware of your hands. Your eyes feel like they’re bulging out of your face, like those cartoony stress balls a million bad therapists have wanted you to try. Your heart doesn’t feel like it’s beating so much as buzzing and you wish you could reach in and squeeze it until it stopped.

“Pete?”

You look at Ricky and take very long moments to understand that he’s asking you a question. Your eyes trail over his cheeks, his temples, the definition in his jaw that honestly looks like it was a mold for all jaws. Ricky Matsui was maybe the first person ever created, you think, and every other man has tried and failed to live up to his image. 

You’ve studied your face in the mirror too many times, looked at pictures of men in magazines and online for the aesthetic and inspiration, but Ricky Matsui— _god_ what an aesthetic.

“Pete?” he asks again.

More than anything else, you’re so fucking horny.

You direct your answer to his lips. “Yeah.”

“You okay?”

“Super,” you mutter.

“Because usually only Esther looks at me like that.”

“Uh huh.” His words sink in and you shake your head again, trying to will some clarity back into it. “Like I said,” you offer weakly, “some kinda gremlin or whatever. You got any healing prepped?”

“I could try Remove Curse,” he says, “but other than that, I’ve always got Lay on Hands.”

 _Fuck yes_ , you think. “No,” you say. You might shout it. You probably shout it, given how surprised Ricky looks. “That’s—why don’t we try the curse thing.”

“Okay.”

It doesn’t work.

Ricky holds up his hands and quirks an eyebrow.

You look at his strong, thick fingers and clench your knees together.

“Not,” you say, breathing heavily, “without talking to Esther.”

“Sure.”

/

You spend three days recovering from the acid and whatever effects it put you under, and you spend all of them with Ricky and Esther. 

They don’t have a guest room per se but you have noticed that all of your friends have made a little Pete-space in each of their respective houses. You don’t take them up on it frequently, maybe not even occasionally, but questions are never asked when you do. And so when Ricky shows up at home dragging you, slowly sobering, Esther grabs a clean set of sheets and some pillows and sets them up on your favorite loveseat. She checks on you before she goes to work, calls when she remembers to take lunch, and fills a glass of water for you when she gets home. Ricky calls the bookstore and lets them know you’re okay but you’ll miss work for a few days. He makes whole-grain toast in the morning and updates the group chat with a few low-key messages that you forget as soon as you see them.

You drift in and out of sleep and dream some of the best and worst dreams of your entire life.

By the end of the third day you feel closer to normal and you rouse yourself to join Ricky and Esther on the couch.

It’s the World Series and Ricky’s cried three times already because baseball, and Esther is mostly paying attention to a sixteenth-century book on alchemy. She’s curled into Ricky’s side but there’s room for you near her feet, so you wrap your blanket around your shoulders, drag it over to her, and plop yourself down.

Neither of them turn to look at you, but Ricky does mute the TV.

“Feeling better?” Esther mumbles.

You lean your cheek on the bend of her knees. “Sort of,” you mumble back. “I don’t feel high anymore, at least.”

“Were you?” Ricky asks without any judgment.

You shake your head. “Not on purpose. I mean, I didn’t, like—absolutely no drugs were consumed willingly by me, I just want to make that clear. But there sure as hell was something in whatever that thing spat at me.”

Esther finally stops reading. “Did you get a good look at it?”

“I think so. I’ll go back and look for it in a few days; I think I saw where it went. Maybe I’ll take a shield or something this time.”

“I have a few spells that could buff you up.”

“Yeah, thanks.” You watch a few commercials and even without sound, you can tell the game is about to come back any second. The spell will break, you know, if Ricky turns the volume up again, so you pipe up just before the TBS logo flashes across the screen.

“Listen,” you say, clearing your throat, “can I just get a bunch of stuff off my chest without making it weird?”

Ricky furrows his brows. “I thought you already did that.”

“Oh my god.”

Esther pats your head. “I know.”

“You know what?”

You sit up and let the blanket fall over your eyes. “Okay, here’s the thing. Relationships for me have always been, like, super fucking complicated mostly because I didn’t know how I felt about myself for a long time. And even after my surgery and stuff, it took a while to figure out and it wasn’t until I learned about magic that I really started to get it, you know? But even now I still have these moments where I just feel, like, it’s not enough or I’m not enough or something stupid like that.” You take a deep breath and close your eyes, making sure not to turn your head. “I used to go on benders when I felt like that, or just go somewhere totally new and foreign to feel that danger of ‘what if something happens and no one knows that I’m here?’ But I’m trying to be better than that and I just—I haven’t been with anyone since Priya and me and Rowan never really worked out and there are times where I just feel like...I’ve done the exile thing and it never fixes anything, and I just feel like sometimes I have all of this static inside me and I don’t know how to get rid of it and I just—”

“You need someone to fuck it out of you,” Esther concludes.

“I need _Ricky_ to fuck it out of me,” you correct. 

Esther laughs and tugs the blanket off of your head with one hand. The other is busy rubbing at the inside of Ricky’s thigh. “I told you, Pete,” she smiles, “I know.”

“I don’t even think I’m really into guys,” you keep rambling, “you know, or maybe I am and I can come back to that later. But there’s just something about him—” It’s easier to talk about him like he’s not there, to talk about him with Esther who understands the inherent fuckability of Ricky Matsui probably more than anyone. But you force yourself to look at him anyway because he’s a good dude and he deserves it. “I don’t mean to objectify you, man, it’s just that there’s something—if anything is gonna get rid of whatever this—you’re so _good_ ,” you finish lamely.

“Pete Conlan, former drug dealer,” Esther smirks, “are you horny for righteousness?”

“No!” you yell. “Fuck, I dunno what I’m horny for, but—”

“Hey.” Esther grabs your chin and the tension in the room ratchets up immediately. “I get it.”

“You keep saying that,” you mumble.

“Give me a minute and I’ll show it, too,” she retorts.

You watch as Esther plants herself in Ricky’s lap, grinding as she covers his mouth in a filthy kiss. You can’t pull your eyes away from any part of it—her hands, pulling Ricky’s hair into spiky patches; her mouth, sucking at a pulse point on Ricky’s neck; the crotch of Ricky’s sweatpants, which seem to get tighter and tighter every time you glance down. 

Esther pulls Ricky’s shirt off and slides her hands down his chest, flicking a thumb over what are apparently sensitive nipples, if his resulting gasp is anything to go by. He’s definitely hard by the time she makes her way further down, and you feel a wave of jealousy wash over you, which is immediately replaced by desire when Ricky’s cock bounces out of his pants.

Esther pumps it a few times and you find yourself transfixed—not by its size or anything, but just by the fact that it’s real and connected to someone you know and really like; by the way her skin looks against Ricky’s, like sand at two different times of day; by how smoothly she shifts against him, pulling moans from deep inside his throat just by moving a finger.

Esther stops her ministrations and with a flick of her wrist, a condom materializes in her hand. She opens it with a wink and a few more kisses, looking only at Ricky as she slides it on. 

Esther pinches Ricky’s leg and, with the willpower of a saint, gets up.

Ricky looks enchanted. You’re just stunned as you watch her take a seat in your loveseat.

“Your turn,” she smiles.

“Wh—no, don’t you—I mean, you should—”

“You’re ready, right?” You can only nod. Esther shrugs. “It’d be rude to leave him hanging.”

You look to Ricky, who shrugs himself. 

You laugh weakly. “I need a little more approval than that, Ricky.”

Ricky smiles as he jerks himself off. “I’m pretty worked up,” he says simply, “and I don’t really care who gets me off. But I’d love if it was you, Pete.”

“Yeah, sure.” You clear your throat and try again. “Yeah, sure,” you repeat, making your voice a little deeper this time, just in case it scares him off.

It’s Ricky. Of course it doesn’t.

There are a few awkward moments as you adjust to each other and the confines of the couch, eventually settling on Ricky laying down with you on top. You reveal yourself by pieces—shorts first, boxers second, and shirt last, as it oddly feels the most vulnerable for you right now. Ricky blushes and you feel his cock twitch underneath you. 

He settles his hands on your hips like it’s not weird that they’re there, and you slide him inside without any warning.

You brace an arm against his chest as you both moan. He’s not big, maybe a little thicker than straps you’ve taken before, but it’s the anticipation wearing away, the feeling of finality that puts you already right at the edge.

“God, you feel—” He pants and rests a hand on your thigh, pausing for long enough that you look at him. “I can be kind of a talker,” he says, “and I don’t wanna say stuff about your body that might be dysphoric or something. What’s good for you?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Esther’s hand work its way into her pants.

“Fuck, Ricky,” you moan. “I don’t know if I’m even gonna last long enough for you to say anything. But I guess”—you adjust your position and squeeze your eyes shut at the sensation—“I guess just keep it generic? Generic and positive.”

“That’s kind of my whole thing,” he says, laughing in a rare moment of self-awareness.

You feel an urge to kiss him but you let it pass. Instead, you grind your hips in a circle, catching yourself as the movement sends a thrill of pleasure all the way up to your head.

“Okay,” you gasp, “okay if we’re doing this, we’ve really gotta do it.”

You lift yourself up and sink down again, and Ricky meets you at the bottom with a confident thrust, perfectly timed. Something snaps as he lifts his hips and you move faster, harder than you ever have on the rare occasions you weren’t giving. You curl your fingers into half-fists, your nails raking down his chest as he thrusts into you with measured, powerful strokes. 

“More, more, more, more, more…” you babble as he pounds into you, and he’s like a machine, and you mean that in a mostly positive way. But there’s something about how he increases his speed without changing the consistency of his movement—it’s not impersonal, because you can hear and feel him writhing underneath you. But you know this is something he’s doing for you, that he’s catering his motions to what you need.

It’s so sweet, so classically Ricky, even though you’ve never been in this situation with him before. But the longer it goes on, the more you keep chasing something without capture, the more you feel like you’re reducing him to a very hot, very lovable dildo.

Guilt starts to creep into your thoughts even as Ricky is valiantly fucking it out.

Esther chooses that moment to pipe up. “Hey, babe?”

Ricky slows but doesn’t stop. “Yep.”

“Can I try something weird?”

“Is it—gonna—hurt?” he asks haltingly, each breath heaving with effort.

Esther laughs. “No, the total opposite. It’ll give you a chance to tap out.”

Ricky finally stops; for a second, there is no sound but your shared heavy breathing. “I don’t understand,” he finally says.

“You trust me, right?”

Both you and Ricky nod.

Esther says a few words and you vaguely register a flash of light; a moment later, you feel a hand on your back.

Logically, you know it’s Esther because she’s the only other person in the apartment. But that is very much _not_ Esther’s hand.

You turn around to see another Ricky looking back at you.

“Holy shit,” you breathe.

“Forgot I’m a wizard, huh?” Esther laughs, but it’s in Ricky’s voice, crinkling the corners of Ricky’s eyes and spreading over Ricky’s cheeks. 

The only difference between the two of them is that Esther-Ricky isn’t hard yet.

She follows your gaze as you look down.

“I think I know what you need,” she purrs, “if you want to help me out.”

You blush. “I’ve never—I mean, I’ve only—”

Esther steps closer to you, reaches a thick hand out and grabs the back of your hair. You shut up immediately.

“I don’t need you to be perfect, Pete,” she murmurs. “I just need to get to a place where I can help you.”

“Okay.”

You start to get off of Ricky but Esther holds you in place and steps even closer, so her cock is a breath away from your lips. You take the hint and gather her in your mouth, bobbing slowly to start then faster once she lets out a deep, obscene moan. The Ricky inside of you hasn’t softened at all and he thrusts a little, every so often, as you suck Esther off. You get sloppier as you really take in the sensation of two of them, how full you feel right now, how loved and cared for.

You give one of Esther’s balls an experimental squeeze and she pushes you off with a shout, her cock springing back and bouncing against her pelvis.

“God,” she heaves, “that was so good, Pete; I don’t want you to think I didn’t like that. It’s just—you come first,” she says, offering a lascivious smile for the double entendre you know she intends.

“Sure,” you say, breath ragged, drool dripping from your lips.

This time you do get off of Ricky and he moans the whole time, his hand immediately finding his dick when it’s free. Esther helps you up; you’re just an inch or two shorter than Ricky, but it’s intoxicating to be the one looking up this time.

Up close you can see she’s not a perfect replica—she’s Polymorphed herself with a bit more stubble, and the scar that she has over her eyes is still there. It does _wonders_ for Ricky, giving him a sense of rugged danger that the real one hasn’t achieved yet.

“Can I kiss you?” she murmurs.

“Oh.” You blush. “No? Not that I don’t want to—I mean, I don’t _right now_ but it’s not like I don’t like—”

“That’s fine,” Esther assures. “We don’t have to; I just thought I’d offer.” She slides her hands down your chest, repeating the path she’d taken with Ricky earlier, only this time she stops to cup you when she gets low enough and smiles when she finds you dripping wet. 

Esther waits for you to nod before slipping a finger in. Ricky’s finger is short but thick, and dangerously skilled under Esther’s control.

“Not too much,” you say, leaning your head against her shoulder.

She nods and places soft kisses on your neck, never venturing higher than your chin.

“I know what you’re looking for,” she groans, swirling slowly inside you. “I wanted it too, when Ricky and I first got together. You spend so long holding everything inside that when you finally get the chance to let it out, you sometimes find that you really want someone to take it.”

She removes her finger and guides you down to the couch, flipping you and pressing your stomach into the cushions.

Esther runs her hands over your back, squeezing your ass cheeks and the parts of your hips that are still soft, and with anyone else you might ask to stop. But Esther is dangerously close to the truth, to uncovering that part of you that you still don’t know yet.

She spreads you open with her fingers and pushes all the way in with one stroke.

“Fuck!”

“It isn’t about taking like possessing,” Esther continues, “there’s no ownership involved.” She pulls out and rams into you once before setting a hard, blistering pace. “It’s about knowing that something—someone—you need, needs you back just as much. It’s about the desperation, the mess—knowing that it exists and is getting fulfilled on both sides.”

You try to prop yourself on your elbows but Esther pushes you down, pressing her elbow into your shoulder blades and holding you in place. You can hear the effort as she pants in your ear, her breath hot and heavy on your neck. She fucks into you with all of Ricky’s strength and very little of his consideration, so hard that you’ve moved past the point of forming words and are instead yelling louder than you ever have in your life.

Her cock hits a sweet spot inside you and you think, just for a moment, that it would be even sweeter if it was just—

You breathe in deeply and catch the scent of her magic, the trace of Polymorph still lingering on her body, and you reach into it, mold it with yours until her cock is just a little longer, just a little veinier to get at those far spots in your walls. This isn’t the way magic normally works but you’ve been told repeatedly that you are not a normal sorcerer, and so you make it work for you.

Esther moans as she feels the adjustments. “God, Pete, _exactly_!” she groans, speeding up. “You take what you need because it’s—god, it’s—you feel _so_ good.” The slap of your hips together is lustful and crude and you find yourself climbing to exponential heights.

Her hand snakes upward toward your hair, her fingers tapping behind your ear.

“Can I…?”

You nod furiously. “Fuck—yes—” you answer, in time with her thrusts.

She winds a large, sweaty hand beneath your chin, wrapping it around your neck in a grip not tight enough to be a squeeze but not loose enough to just be holding you. Your head throbs at the pressure and the feel of her inside you.

“I love Ricky so much,” she pants, “but he’s so— _fucking_ —good, and sometimes I just want a sloppy night; I want the mess and the frenzy and someone to be reckless with when I know they’ll catch me.”

Esther lifts you and scoots you forward, pushing your face into the arm of the couch as she pounds into you, so fiercely and so fast that the couch itself is actually moving. Your legs are shaking and you briefly turn your head to see Ricky furiously jerking himself off with one hand, the other snaking a finger into his ass.

Esther grabs onto both of your shoulders and speeds up, leaning close so only you can hear her. 

“Some days,” she rasps, “I just want a pretty boy to _ruin._ ”

You come with a yell and a quake, slumping forward as Esther rides the rest of it out. Seconds later, one Ricky comes and then the other, and in your fucked-out state you honestly don’t know which is which.

Time winds itself around you only you don’t mind as much this time. Slowly, you come back to yourself, rolling over as you catch your breath. You swipe two fingers across your cunt and lick them, just to make sure that this hadn’t been a dream.

On the loveseat, Ricky is fucking Esther, back in her own body, to a quick release.

You’re tempted to finger yourself as you watch but honestly you couldn’t even _dream_ of moving. So you throw an arm over your forehead and lay back with a smile on your face and throbbing everywhere.

“God, you’re so lucky,” you breathe, and you honestly don’t know which of the two you’re talking about.

Esther comes first, Ricky right behind her, and they slump against each other, laughing and breathing heavily.

“I’ll work on him,” Esther huffs, turning around in Ricky’s lap. “We can’t do this all the time but I’ll work on him ‘til he gets it.”

You begin the slow process of sitting up and looking for your clothes, still a little out of breath yourself.

“Fuck yes,” you grin. “Does that mean there’s gonna be a next time?”

Esther nods and pinches Ricky’s nipple at the same time Ricky groans and says, “I think I’m gonna need a couple of months.”

You laugh, excited about whatever the answer is.

“Dope.”


End file.
